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Sensibly Misinformed

You know, I find it rather funny, I get on here to write to achieve some level of therapeutic and constructive release of stress, but I don’t ever know what the Hell I am writing until I put letters in the little post title box.

The phrase “sensibly misinformed” came to me out of nowhere. As though my mind were digesting possible scenarios of write-worthy content long before it was brought to my attention. The phrase comes to mind and I know nothing of what it means. My initial thought is lied to unintentionally. Which then opens a variety of venues to explore and write about with significant ease. I could write about events in most any day of my life, granted some will be more mundane than others. I’m going to say, in that way, I am sensibly misinformed quite often, but it doesn’t seem to play a role in tonight’s pressing thoughts.

I could not rest last night. Rather I tried to a few times before getting worked up and having this lovely idea struck upon me to finally restring my guitar. That didn’t go as planned and now I have no strings until sometime this following week. Quickly obsessing over the fact I was now unable to play guitar, probably due to avoiding whatever internal conflict was making my chest a little tight, I struggled to find another method to relax. I settled on other video games and cycled back around to “Rock Band 3” thinking that maybe the music in general would help. Before I knew it, it was time for work.

Work didn’t go well either. When it rains, it pours. And right now, it might as well be raining fire, because my funds for anything other than bills going forward, are all but ashes. Since the sky seems to be on fire, pigs ought to fly. Maybe the fact that I could just get randomly seared ham steaks or bacon meats on my porch in the morning is enough to wind me down. If only…

I came home. I wanted to play with Rocket (My adorable puppy!) but, I already knew what would happen. And with a heavy sigh I sat on the couch. I thought maybe I could do with just a few minutes shuteye, knowing that was already a lie. My friend was supposed to come by to pick up a game to borrow and to also bring some cheesecake, on this note, I turned my ringer up louder to be aware of what would happen. I asked Jaslyn, my now ex-fiance, when she would be home, because I was worried about Rocket, and I wasn’t feeling well enough to take care of her. For the longest time, there was no reply. She was busy I guess. So I drifted in and out of consciousness for several hours, waking every 10-15 minutes, to glance at the time and feel nauseous before succumbing to darkness again. It wasn’t restful to say the least.

My friend cancelled the visit, but made another offer to hang out which I declined sensibly, I was in no condition to drive. That was roughly all of my communication until Jaslyn came home sometime after 10 pm. She took care of Rocket while I was flipping back and forth groggily. It is also worth note that I didn’t move things around to be comfortable while sleeping because I was that exhausted. When Jaslyn and Rocket are finally going to bed I am realizing aloud to myself that I haven’t really eaten today. So I had some pumpkin pie, being in a depressed state of mood, I didn’t really want to deal with preparing anything. And now I am up still… Wishing I could just disappear.

I have work tomorrow at 8 am, and while you could argue I slept from 4pm to 11:30 pm, that I had nearly 8 hours of sleep, as I said, it was just tossing and turning, trying to get up and falling back down kind of rest. Not very good stuff. And now, when I tried to lay down, only terrible thoughts. So as long as I can keep a keyboard in front of me and dimly lit computer screen to review the content of what my hands relay, these thoughts are kept in the distance. I fear, much like most of the times I write on this damned blog, that I won’t rest again tonight. I already know, I will likely regret doing so, and will question my insanity tomorrow as I write it off as being angry, upset, or stressed. Which is the truth, but not the whole version.

I used to write poems a lot. I used to look down on others a lot. I used to strive to make my mark as this weird character, so I couldn’t be easily forgotten. There were a lot of things I used to do. And for the longest time I thought it didn’t matter anymore, it was attention-y type stuff, and now I have a wonderful person with whom to share life, I need no more attention than this!

Well, you might say I’m on here writing aren’t I? Yeah. Red handed. Guilty, as charged. The fact of the matter is my personal relationships with friends, family, and others, are either strained, or weak enough that they can disappear with no expectations otherwise. There are a tiny few that weather the ages and still maintain that lustrous appeal. I think I can count those relationships on a single hand. Even so, I’m apparently not getting something off my chest or some shit, because I sit up right now, at 1:43 in the morning, bitching and moaning.

In the end none of this right now matters. Maybe the current happenings do impact my future decisions, sure, but then again, maybe they don’t. Regardless of the impact it plays going into the future, what is of value to me? A question I always have a hard time answering. Happiness? Yeah, maybe, but not mine apparently. I say it is, but my actions and results certainly indicate otherwise. My soul? Maybe, that lines up with my thoughts and actions a little more, but I don’t even regularly attend church, which seems the most basic in my understanding of the that whole operation.

My actions and thoughts just seem so disjointed now, as though I have another part of me to weigh possible outcomes unbeknownst to me and decide the best course of action according to its own priorities. What sort of self sacrificial mentality have I to have arrived at my current standing? To what do I owe that displeasure? Life. Ha, that’s it right? Some mildly delusional method of how I’m going to make the world a better place so that the things that happened to me, happen to no one else. Maybe in this same vein of thought, I also feel that I have lost my chance at happiness, and need to do my best to help others attain theirs. I dunno, that’s honestly a new concern I have drawn just since typing it out. It seems pretty basic, like how haven’t I arrived there before?

I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything. I know I am unhappy. I know I am stressed enough to make work a potentially living Hell each day I have it. The things I want to say I know, have a pang of “wait a minute, you aren’t sure” kind of attitude with them. I want to say I know I have friends that care (I should know, right?). I want to say I know things will get better (I do in some intellectual sense, but there’s just that itch of a thought that says, “it’s likely, but not necessarily”). I want to say that there is someone or something out there that will help me find purpose…

Things have a funny way of working out. Heavy thoughts lead to heavy eyelids. Maybe I can get some sleep after all. When I finished writing about me finding a purpose a few lines up, all I could think was prayer and God. What have I got to lose right? Someone’s looking out for me, be it Divine or Earthly in origin, God plays no small part as far as I am concerned, and I would do well to remember that.